The Man
by Sis Spiffy
Summary: Where exactly did the name Vekel the Man come from? A beautiful story about Vekel the Man kicking butt.


Mentions of the Thieves Guild, but no spoilers! Enjoy!

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A lazy path of blood trailed behind the Nords. Brynjolf was weak from adrenaline and his injury. A deep gash in his side slowed his pace and throbbed with every step. His leather armor was torn open from the blow and the red-haired Nord leaned heavily on Vekel.

Normally, the small bartender would not venture out with the thieves, but Brynjolf asked for his help. He was 'picking up' a shipment of mead, and felt it best that Vekel be there to ensure the men that he was indeed an honest merchant.

Unfortunately, their ruse failed. The guards saw through their plan and rewarded the older Nord with a blow to the side. Vekel was able to get away unscathed and helped the older thief run until they lost the Jarl's men.

Alone, the thieves wandered down a winding path. Without potions or bandages, Brynjolf was fading. The blood refused to stop and the Nords were growing desperate for some shelter in the dying light.

The dark came quickly and suffocating, trapping the men in a dangerous maze. Vekel was unarmed and defenseless and Brynjolf was fluttering in and out of consciousness. They kept up a stumbling pace and Vekel began to grow weary and lose moral. Riften was day away without horses, they would never make it.

The freezing air locked up the men's joints and made it harder for Brynjolf to support any of his weight and it put more pressure on Vekel's stiff bones. The smaller man was unaccustomed to a burden like his friend. His hardest daily task consisted of sweeping the Flagon. He was proficient with a broom, but not much else.

Suddenly in the distance, he saw it. A small building with lighted up windows.

Hope.

The black of the night was smothering. The cold Skyrim night wrapped around the Nords and they stepped gratefully into the small inn on the side of the road. The biting air was snuffed out by the warm fire. The small building smelled of mead and smoke and the Nords felt instantly at home. It was a small, but typical Nordic inn. A fire, tables, side doors that led to rooms, but there was one difference.

It was empty.

The fire crackled and Vekel jumped. It was eerily quiet, an unnatural silence. Inns were great meeting places for Nords to tell of great victories and celebrate. They were never empty. Even on slow days, bards sang and a lone man drank, never empty. The barren room felt too small. Vekel fidgeted and no longer felt welcome.

Sitting Brynjolf in a chair, Vekel shook off the feeling. Brynjolf was more important. He went about looking for anything to patch his companion up. He found a small linen cloth and several bottles of mead. Snagging a bottle and the fabric, Vekel returned to his friend.

Using the cloth, he bandaged Brynjolf up the best he could and gave him a bottle of mead to dull the pain. Once the older Nord had some of the alcohol in his system, Vekel continued his search. Brynjolf needed a potion or two, badly. Stopping the bleeding would only help so much.

The echo of his boots hitting the floor send a chill up Vekel's spine. He felt as if he was being watched as he walked behind the counter of the inn. What he saw there shocked him.

A strangled sound burst from his throat when he saw the bodies. Two crumpled, bloodless bodies were haphazardly hidden behind the wood. Their glassy eyes were widened in silent terror.

"Talos..." Vekel whispered, breaking the strained silence.

An unholy chuckle filled the room, "Well, what do we have here?" An elf in long black robes stepped from the shadows and licked her lips. "Another snack? My, my, well you certainly catch more Nords with mead than water."

Vekel stumbled back and watched her approach Brynjolf. She grabbed the red-haired man's face and jerked it upwards and looked at him. The thief weakly turned his face away, but couldn't muster the strength for much else. She released him and Brynjolf took the opportunity to spit on her boots.

The woman cackled, "Oh, that's a shame, love. You won't be putting up much of a fight."

At the threat, Vekel let out a yell. Grabbing the closest item, he launched himself at the vampire. Her head connected with the wooden broom handle. The echo bounced off the room and fueled the bartender with more rage. He swept the broom under her feet and she collapsed on the ground.

Producing a knife of her own, she got up and began fighting back. The blade was quick and it almost caught the scrawny man, but he flinched back and it ripped his shirt. Vekel tore the remaining cloth off his chest and resumed the battle. Bare chested, he heaved the broom at the bloodsucker once again.

It was like a dance, the broom and the knife. He lunged and dodged while she bobbed and sliced. She was quicker, but he was clever. Using the long handle he knocked the dagger from her hand. It skittered across the room and he threw her to the ground. Against the wood of the floor, the vampire squirmed. Vekel slammed the wood against her head once more, and she lay still. Cold blood oozed on the floor around her, but Vekel didn't care.

He was safe. Brynjolf was safe.

Vekel was frozen, he couldn't move for a moment and he just stared at Brynjolf. A wild smile spread over his face when he made eye contact with his friend.

Brynjolf looked up to see a shirtless Vekel standing over a dead vampire, wielding a broom. His torso glistened from sweat and his chest heaved from the exhausting dance. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and the men's eyes met, celebrating the victory together.

Brynjolf could only smile at his friend's victory. He was impressed. Using a last burst of strength he shouted.

"You're The Man, Vekel!"

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How do you author? I don't even. I'm just gonna leave the room now...

Hope you liked it anyway! PM me a request if you have one!


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